Through A Glass Darkly: Outtakes
by EHWIES
Summary: Scrapped chapters and deleted scenes from my WIP, Through A Glass Darkly, some of which work as standalone one-shots. Chapter Four: An alternate first chapter.
1. Row, Thursday Night

**A/N:** You've stumbled across the outtakes fic for Through A Glass Darkly, my current Lily/James WIP, where I'll post scenes and chapters somehow involving the Darklyverse-either behind the scenes one-shots canon with the story or deleted scenes that are AU from the story's timeline. The following chapter, for instance, is an edited scene from the first chapter of a very, very early and short-lived incarnation of Darkly, early on in the fic's planning stages and before any of the currently posted story was thought of or written. It's AU from the rest of the story, contains no spoilers for Darkly (other than a few resemblances to Darkly's thematic elements), and can be read as a standalone one-shot.

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**Row, Thursday Night**

They're at it again in the common room, Thursday night. It feels, to her, like a release, like what this week's been building up to: the chase-and-run of the train, awkward avoidance on the first day back, then jibes slowly rising, rising, in intensity—

Until it all crashes down, here, _now_, burning down pretenses and denying all their little lies, like a run-on sentence breaking when there's nowhere else to go.

(_She _is_ rather preoccupied with syntax._)

"I don't see why you can't just treat me _civilly_," he's saying calmly when she looks up. "I know by now I'm not your type, and it's not like I'm asking for _friendship_ or anything, that'd be drastic—"

Lily cuts him off impatiently as he offers a grin. "It's the way you crack jokes in the middle of rows," she spits, pacing, now, before him. "It's the way you land me detention by passing notes to me in front of McGonagall. It's the way you find it _funny_ to hex Snape when I'm watching—"

"What, now it's a problem when I try to lighten the mood a little?" James interjects, stifling a laugh.

"_Lighten the mood_—you'd see why I think you're so insufferable if you'd just _listen_ to yourself every now and then," Lily shoots, brushing her hair away from her face.

He ruffles his own, to which she rolls her eyes. "And if you'd just pull that stick out of your arse and ease up a little, you'd realize how perfectly tolerable I am when you get to know me."

She doesn't bother calling him out on language: Lily's so used to this that she barely notices the insult. "Hardly," she scoffs. She's getting a bit red in the face from the effort of it, almost bright enough to match the Gryffindor scarlet around them. The room has emptied by now, even the first years having realized within minutes to avoid their rows, and she flings herself down in front of the fire. "You're sixteen years old, Potter; one would _think_ you'd have grown out of hexing first years in the corridors."

"Evans, if you'd paid a bit of neutral attention to me in the past week, you'd have realized that I only hex Death Eaters who cuss out the object of my affections."

She looks, really _looks_, at him for what feels like the first time. His glasses are askew before hazel eyes darkened to brown, hair ruffled, shirt untucked. But he's looking back with an intentness that startles her, even if only for a second. After a pause: "Snape doesn't cuss me out, and I'll have nothing to do with any of your affections."

"He called you a—" James swallows thickly and won't say the word "—during O.W.L.'s."

"Three _months_ ago," Lily emphasizes, glaring. "_Nowadays_ he's on his best behavior."

James smirks a bit and sits in the armchair at her right. "Haven't seen you accepting his attention lately," he tries hesitantly, speaking softly now.

She pauses, torn between indignation and trust. Against her better judgment; and because this week has shown her how few friends she has left; and because, when picking sides between the two boys who miss her, she's no choice but to side against Severus—she chooses the latter. "You don't need to punish him for crossing the line, Potter. It's a bad enough blow to him that I've run out of chances to give."

It's a step, and he's startled, taking a while to react. To Lily's chagrin, he seems to realize what it means. "If you're willing to turn to me," he says slowly, tasting the words, "then why won't you give me the time of day?"

It's her turn to hesitate this time, and she, too, chooses carefully. "I don't need you," Lily chances, some of the defiance coming back to her now. "The girls have been friendly when I've partnered them in classes, and Remus is as kind to me as ever during rounds, and—I don't _need_ you, Potter."

It's all she can do to keep from falling into June again. She hears James stand, feels a hand on her shoulder. "I'll partner you in Potions tomorrow," comes a murmur in her ear, and then he's walking away, cold with his absence.

"This doesn't change anything," she calls after him as he's nearing the stairs, and she turns to see him facing her, his face blank. With his silence, she goes on uncertainly. "We're still not friends, and I still think you're an arrogant toerag with no sense of maturity."

Just a little, the corners of his mouth turn up. "I'm not so sure about that."

She feels empty, almost, left alone.


	2. Look At Me

**A/N:** A quick one-shot from Mary's perspective, and is canon with the Darklyverse. This takes place on November 3rd, 1976, and is set just before Chapter 16. Spoilers through Chapter 15.

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**Look At Me**

She skips Herbology. Every couple of weeks she'll go to a class, only all she hears from Sprout are _words_ when Reg is in the greenhouse, and she's better off catching up out of the textbook later, anyway, with that going on.

He comes up to her station sometimes, usually to ask whether they've found a good trick to the repotting because his group can't seem to get it, or to pull Lockhart away out of sympathy to Marlene. She just pretends like he's not there, though, even when he's asking her and looking at her and smiling at her—

She can't look at him, because seeing his face just reminds her of everything they could have had, and the look in his eyes reeks of _I don't miss you_ and _I'm better off without you_. But she misses him, and she's not better off without him, and it's too _hard_ to go an hour and a half a week in his presence knowing that she's screwed it up with all her drama. Now they can't go back, and they never even really started.

Sometimes she wants to shake him. All right! So she's shallow and vain and has a penchant for nasty rumors! Fine, she'll admit it, but she's not thick, she's not superficial, and she sure as hell doesn't need him _protecting_ her by cutting himself out of her life and giving her time to think. She doesn't need time, she needs someone who understands her, and she thought Reg was it.

He wasn't, and that's the most mortifying part of all.


	3. Slytherins and Hufflepuffs

**A/N:** The events of the Hogwarts Express ride in sixth year through Lily's eyes instead of Mary's. Canon within the Darklyverse, set during and spoilers for Chapter 8.

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**Slytherins and Hufflepuffs**

The platform is crowded, bustling, and a definite shock to my system. The pit in my stomach and introversion remind me of my first Hogwarts train ride—but I'm with Marlene and Doc instead of Severus and my family, and that, if anything, makes all the difference. "Remember, if either of you need _anything_," Doc's saying, "just owl. Study hard, live your lives, but don't let the drama get to you—I know what goes on between teenagers at Hogwarts, and it's the worst in sixth year, I'd say, but it gets easier, I promise. Stick together, all right? You'll do spectacularly without that Snape boy, Lils, nothing's going to hold you back—and Marbles, I fully expect you to have broken it off with that boyfriend of yours by Christmas, you hear?" The earnestness with which he says all this doesn't suit him, and it's unnerving to me, suddenly, that I've grown a lot more accustomed to it than anyone should in the past month.

For her part, Marlene just waves off her father's concerns, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her trunk. "Relax, Doc, we'll be fine, and _you_ remember that my love life is none of your business. When will you know more about the holidays?"

"You know I can't promise anything, honey, it all depends on work," Doc sighs. "The war's gotten a lot worse over the summer, and if my workload increases too much… you've seen for yourself how often I'm away, and I don't want you girls to be alone on Christmas. Promise you'll at least _try_ to work things out with your mother, just in case?"

"I'm not going anywhere without Lily," says Marlene adamantly. I shoot her a grateful smile and hoist Aquarius's cage up higher, Aquarius being my new tabby cat that Emmeline insisted upon naming after my zodiac sign.

Doc sighs again—he's aged at least half a decade in the past month, it seems. "Just make tentative plans with _someone_, all right, in case I can't pull through… now get in there and knock their socks off." He kisses the top of Marlene's head, wraps me in a quick hug, and Disapparates with a weary smile.

We pass Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon on the walk across the platform; none of us say a word.

"You're sure you're ready for this, Lily?" asks Marlene as we lug our belongings onto the train. I smile grimly and nod, hoping I seem convincing enough that she'll let it go. She purses her lips in a frown but otherwise says nothing more on the subject. "Well, I promised J I'd sit in his compartment… you're welcome to join us, you know."

"I'd rather not, thanks," I say meekly, shaking my head. "I'll just… find Emmeline or someone. Do you think she's here by now?"

"Em's always the first person to arrive anywhere," Marlene assures me. "You don't want me to meet up with them later? Or-"

Hastily, I interrupt, "No, it's fine, I don't want to interfere with your plans. I'll see you at Hogwarts, all right?"

"Not so fast," Marlene insists, latching onto my arm as I start to walk away. "We can at least look for the other Gryffindors together first. Come on, they'll probably be toward the back somewhere…"

We find the Marauders first, sans Lupin—he's probably in the prefects' compartment, I figure. After Marlene's initial greetings, an awkward silence falls over the group of us, no one knowing quite what to say to me. In my peripheral vision, I notice Black and Pettigrew exchanging a significant look, and Black doesn't even flinch as Marlene sits in remarkably close proximity to him. I force a smile and don't meet anyone's eyes, knowing fully well that James is staring at me. "If that's all, I'm just going to go find Emmeline…" I say, my voice wavering a little. "I'll catch up with you later, Marlene."

"But Lily-"

I take off before James can finish his protest, absentmindedly bursting into compartments and asking if anyone's seen Emmeline. It's distraction enough for a few minutes—at least, until I catch the tail end of the latest conversation I've intruded upon, in a compartment occupied by Mary Macdonald, Paul Patil, and some of the Hufflepuffs. "…About her staying with some Auror—somebody's uncle here at Hogwarts?" Veronica Smethley is saying to the group.

I shake it off—I'm becoming too self-absorbed, assuming everything is about me. Aquarius nips at my heels as I say, somewhat apologetically, "I'm sorry, but have any of you seen… oh." I'm _not_ getting self-absorbed, it seems, as the compartment has gone dead quiet, and everyone's eyes are on me. Mary looks like she's on the verge of some sort of explanation, but suddenly, I don't want to hear it. "Oh. It's like that, then," I finish, much quieter.

All I can see is the obvious distaste in the way Veronica's looking at me. I barely register Mary's words or Aquarius's hisses as I turn on my heel and exit the way I came in, bitterness taking my timidity's place.

Let Emmeline come to me, I decide rashly, throwing myself into the seat of the first empty compartment I can find. It's going to be a long day.

She finds me soon enough, sitting across from me without a proper greeting. "I told Alice I would save her a compartment," says Emmeline softly, letting her Kneazle, Moonshine, out of her cage.

I nod—words aren't always necessary with Emmeline. "How was the remainder of your summer? I haven't seen you since Diagon Alley a month ago…"

"Nor have you seen anyone, I'll bet," she adds in an undertone. "My summer was fine, thanks." She doesn't ask it back; I'm grateful not to have to answer, but then, knowing Emmeline, it's probably because she's not even interested.

It's not long before my halfhearted attempts at conversation are cut short. "…Don't see how see can just shrug it off and _accept_ it, I really don't!" a girl is saying avidly as footsteps thunder toward our compartment. "I thought that _Jones_, of all people, would be on my side about this-"

A deeper voice cuts across the first one to say dryly, "Really, Angela, _Hestia_ on your side, after you spent half your sixth year setting up a rivalry in case _she_ beat you to it. You'd think she'd just resent you at this point."

"Shut it, Cresswell, nobody asked your opinion." The female speaker—Angela Macmillan, I realize—throws open the door to the compartment, not bothering to greet Emmeline or me before flinging herself onto the seat opposite us two and glaring daggers at the caustically cool Dirk Cresswell.

"Same goes for you," says Dirk, seating himself next to me (to my mild discomfort). Emmeline has the window seat, and from the smile that lifts up the corners of her lips at Dirk's sarcasm, she'd rather like to trade places with me as well. She doesn't take to many people, Emmeline, and her tastes can be offbeat—her most constant companion outside our house and year is Marlene's sister Maggie, a perceptive fourth year Ravenclaw.

Knowing Emmeline, I'll have to talk first to make any light of the dispute. "Accept what?" I ask meekly. All eyes turn to me, and I shrink from the apparent pity in Alice Abbott's, adding quieter, "Did something happen at the prefect meeting?"

"Dorcas Meadowes happened," adds another male, rounding out the group that's coming into the compartment—Frank Longbottom. Even his composure seems a little shaken as he sits next to Alice, opposite Dirk.

Slowly, things start falling into place, and I think back to that Quidditch meet at the Burrow last June. "Meadowes—the Slytherin? Captain of the-"

"Forget Quidditch Captain," seethes Angela. "Try _Head Girl_. Even Jones would have been better suited—how the hell does Dumbledore expect _Meadowes_ to run the student body?"

"Relax, Angela, it's not an international crisis," says Dirk, folding his arms. "Voldemort's not Head Boy or anything-"

Angela's eyes narrow—this, clearly, was the wrong thing to say. "Cresswell, her father is the _Minister of Magic_, her mother has been named Witch Weekly's Most Influential Witch for the past three years running—the Meadowes family has a twelve-generation Slytherin legacy, for Merlin's sake! I don't trust her!"

Alice puts a hand on Angela's shoulder, smiling faintly. "It's only for one year," she reminds her gently. "She's better than her parents, Meadowes—any girlfriend of Fabian Prewett's can't be that bad, right?"

"I don't trust Fabian, either," says Angela crossly, but her fury seems to be dying down.

"Besides," Alice goes on, encouraged, "Kingsley Shacklebolt is Head Boy with her. Even if she were—er, destructive—he'd keep her in line. And if Dumbledore trusts her-"

Emmeline adds, "Reckon you're upset because he didn't entrust _you_ with Head Girl?" Angela glares, but the tension seems to have broken, and I breathe a little sigh of relief.

"Enough about Meadowes," says Frank. "How was your summer, Emmeline, Lily?"

The compartment goes dead quiet as Frank belatedly realizes his mistake. However, I speak up before he can, no doubt, start to apologize: "It's fine, Frank, I don't mind. If talking about it means people will stop hypothesizing about it…"

Alice and Frank exchange a look, then she says, "No one's talking about you, Lily."

"Yeah, well, that's not what I gathered from the conversation in Veronica Smethley's compartment," I say darkly. "You know, forget it, it doesn't matter…"

Conversation is light for a while, and I allow my mind to wander, making sure to nod at seemingly appropriate intervals to direct attention away from myself. My summer… Whatever I may say, I don't want to talk about it, let alone _think_ about it. What matters is that there are people who have my best interests in mind: Marlene and Doc, with whom we stayed after—the incident, as I've come to think of it. Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon, it turns out, are only accommodating to those who don't _need_ a place to stay, and the thought that this pattern of thinking is often used to smooth over Marlene's rocky family background starts to shed light on why she moved out when her mother and stepfather wouldn't take me in.

Given my relationship with Tuney—and the Ministry's strict refusal to let me live with extended family, in adherence to the Statute of Secrecy—Doc took us in, no questions asked. He seems to have grown up in the last month—we all have. I didn't see him much, as he worked almost round-the-clock for the Auror department and Dumbledore's organization, but I rarely saw in him the energy he had on Marlene's birthday when he was at the flat. Marlene left often, too, come to think of it, always popping in and out of Helene's Manor to visit Black (who left home last summer, too, she tells me, to live with the Potters), but I almost liked it better when I was alone. Almost.

She's in the Marauders' compartment today, Marlene. She invited me to sit with them after Doc dropped us off, but I want to put it off as long as I can.

I haven't seen James since—

"What did you think of it, Lily?" My head snaps up at Alice's question, and she smiles kindly and explains as she realizes I haven't been listening. "Professor Flitwick's essay. The topic this year was more abstract than usual, so I wasn't sure how much should be researched and how much should be your own conclusions…"

I shake it off and launch into my opinions about the essay. I'm not cooped up in the flat anymore; it's about time I start acting like it.


	4. Conditional Benefits, Ulterior Motives

**A/N:** Another alternate version of the first chapter, written about three months before I began work on what eventually became Darkly itself. Though it's not canon with the fic, you'll see a lot more elements resembling Darkly here than in the even earlier version posted as Chapter 1 of this story.

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**Conditional Benefits, Ulterior Motives**

_Friday, September 10__th__, 1976_

If Professor Cuthbert Binns recognized his unpopularity, he took great pains not to show it.

The N.E.W.T.-level History of Magic classes were perhaps the smallest in the school. Only one existed for each of the two years, so short were the rosters; as it were, the sixth-year class consisted of only three students. Bored though Binns may have been by the teaching of his subject, he failed to acknowledge obvious signs of his pupils' agreement: wide yawns, hushed conversations, occasional snores. The otherwise empty classroom was filled equally by Binns's practiced monologue and the signs of his protégés' disinterest—a mark of the effectiveness of his instruction.

So when a certain James Potter tapped Lily Evans on the shoulder on the second Friday of the school year, she groaned not out of fear of repercussion but anxiety at the notion of conversing with her least favorite housemate.

"What do you want?" Lily hissed out the corner of her mouth, keeping her eyes determinedly fixed on the professor.

Potter's pokes did not subside. "No need to keep up a guise, Evans. You know as well as I do that Binns won't notice a thing."

On Lily's other side, Amelia Bones shot the pair a disapproving look. _Sorry_, mouthed Lily, rolling her eyes in Potter's direction; Amelia relented and twisted her lips in sympathy before resuming her careful notes.

Potter was smirking by the time she turned to him, and he kept his hand firmly on her shoulder, much to her chagrin. "I have a Quick-Quotes Quill you can borrow if you're worried about missing part of the lecture."

Her face contorted at the thought of her last foray with the quills: thanks to a sick day and borrowed notes from Sev, whose usual quill had been swapped out by the Marauders, Lily's intended resource on Invigoration Draughts had been replaced by thorough speculation on the next Slug Club party's guest list. "I'll just borrow from Amelia, thanks."

She could almost feel Amelia's reluctant sigh on her right.

"Right." Potter—_softened_, almost; surely his smirk had subsided into something like a half-smile. "Anyway—you said you wanted to talk to me?"

"Not _now_," Lily hastened to correct him, glancing quickly at Amelia—the Ravenclaw, thankfully, was too practical for gossip and was determinedly enduring the hour and a half lecture on medieval Muggle uprisings. "I meant at dinner or something. Not in _class_."

Potter stifled a snort. "Always so concerned for your reputation—kidding, kidding," he relented at the look on Lily's face. "The world turns even for cheats, Evans."

She moaned internally. "I'm not a _cheat_, Potter, and I'd be responsibly note-taking right now if you weren't being such a pain."

Clutching his chest histrionically, he gasped, "Oh, Evans, how you wound me."

Lily was not amused (though she _was_ somewhat glad to be rid of the hand on her shoulder).

"So," he pried, letting the matter (and his hands) drop. "What is it that you wanted?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "Just to know why you insist upon being my N.E.W.T. Potions partner for the next two years when you have roommates, prefects, and adoring fans to choose from."

Potter frowned, contradicting the twinkle in his eyes. "I didn't realize Alice Abbott was that kind of girl. Isn't she still with—Longbottom, is it?"

"Alice is prefect—_that_ kind of girl would be Marlene McKinnon."

"You said _fans_—plural—and Marlene is Sirius's girl, she knows where to draw the line. You're more my type, anyway." He grinned cheerily.

Lily fiddled with her quill as she responded—she wasn't generally a gossip. "You'd think otherwise if you spent any time with her and Mary in the girls' dormitory."

Potter dismissed this respectfully and glanced briefly back to Binns, who was safely droning about 1200s wizard-Muggle tensions. "You still said it plural."

Lily groaned. "Excuse my misleading grammar, then. Or is that too big a request for you to handle?"

Shrugging, he reverted to the original topic. "I just figured it'd be convenient for you. After you and Sniv—er, Snape—broke off your friendship last summer—I mean, don't try and pretend like I wasn't supposed to know about that, you've made it clear to the whole school," Potter defended himself at Lily's raised eyebrow. "And the girls aren't used to working with you in Potions because you'd always partner him—"

"I could have just partnered Remus, you know," she interrupted. "You always work with Black."

Potter hedged, "We—had a bit of a falling-out lately. And since we'd both be in need of a partner…"

She couldn't help feeling a brief rush of gratitude for his consideration, no matter what ulterior motives he may have had. He'd been awfully vague earlier that day in Potions with the Slytherins when he'd stalked pointedly away from Black's invitation and grabbed her wrist, taking her books in his free arm and leading her forcibly to his table. "Thanks for this," was all he'd muttered as he slammed her books on her side of the desk, and she'd been too taken aback the rest of the class to ask after his abandonment of his best friend—and his mood had seemed too poor for him to take initiative.

Though she hated to admit it, she'd been more preoccupied that Potter had touched her so callously and without the usual accompanying innuendo—yet his palms had fast turned sweaty on her wrist and his grip had softened as they walked, and he'd made a point of pulling out her stool before sitting.

"So the quietness?" Lily pressed, further lowering her voice. "The moodiness—that was on Black, not something I did?"

Potter beamed. "Didn't realize you cared what I think of you, Evans."

She paused. "I prefer not to make enemies; that doesn't mean I care about my reputation as much as you'd like to think I do."

"Funny, because the level of hostility I was getting from you all last year spoke to the contrary." He cut over her stammered retorts, "Don't worry about it, Evans. Rest assured that I still worship the ground you walk on—though I realized last year that you don't much appreciate my energies in showing it."

Self-consciously, she tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear and felt a blush rising in her cheeks. Their only open _fight_ had been the same day as Sev had called her—no, she wouldn't think of it, she _couldn't_—and though the extent of her anger had been more situational than anything, he seemed to accept that the core message—_back off_—had been heartfelt.

"Aw, shucks, Evans, don't get embarrassed—I'm trying not to bring it up, remember? That was about Sirius today—I wouldn't have imposed on you if I thought neither of us needed it."

To be sure, a rift between Potter and Black did fill in some of the blanks about the past few days, small as it had started out. She'd first noticed something amiss the day before at the start of Defense Against the Dark Arts. He would have sparked her interest just in showing up early even if he hadn't come alone or grabbed the desk next to Remus's. Last week, he'd sauntered in a quarter of an hour after roll call with Black, and they'd sat in the seats behind and diagonal to the third Marauder enrolled in the class, casually ignoring Professor Prewett's reprimands. It wasn't like he'd taken the summer to turn over a new leaf—no, this was not long premeditated, and perhaps she'd have noticed that it was a deliberate slight to his best friend if she hadn't been so quick to stop herself from caring.

And it would have stayed that way, if losing one's best friend didn't include taking refuge in the conditional friendship of one's roommates, and that one of the downfalls of becoming "one of the girls" was spending time with their significant others and respective groups of friends—at least, those in Gryffindor. So while Alice and Mary Macdonald had left the group for their respective Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff boyfriends (Alice, the most responsible and empathetic of the group, she was especially sad to see go), Lily had kept quiet while spending time with the Marauders when Marlene chose to share the day with Sirius Black. After all, given Lily's debt to the girls and distance from Marlene, she hadn't exactly been at liberty to protest.

And so it had been awfully difficult for Lily to ignore the tension between the ordinarily inseparable Potter and Black. Marlene had proven a worthy distraction—Black had devoted the majority of his attention to his girlfriend (_was_ Marlene his girlfriend? flirtatious as they were, their relationship was not clearly defined), and James had appeared content to consider only the remaining boys, Lily, and Emmeline Vance, Lily's fellow tagalong. It had been awkward, to say the least—though the good thing about groups was that no individual attention _need_ be paid to their components, so she and Potter (thankfully) had come in as little contact as possible—but while no open hostility had bubbled to the day's surface, she couldn't help spotting that the pair sat at opposite ends of their gaggle at the Gryffindor table and as far away as possible in the common room and under the beech tree.

Whenever Black had addressed Potter, he'd pretended not to hear.

"Still," Lily tried, pulling her thoughts back to the present, "you'd think one fight wouldn't prompt you to sign on to work with me weekly for the next two years. Those partner choices are going to be permanent through the N.E.W.T.s."

Potter fidgeted. "It was—more than a fight," he said shortly. "I'll tell you later, all right? And you're the first person I'd want to work with after Pads."

Acquiescently, she let the matter drop. "So not ringing once all summer," Lily clarified, "not sending a single Howler screaming of your devotion, not embarrassing me all day yesterday when I was within arms' reach—that was just to get on my good side for Potions?"

He shrugged. "There's one way of looking at it."

"You'd better watch yourself," teased Lily, though with a touch of sarcasm. "Keep it up, and it might actually start working." Truth be told, Lily didn't _detest_ Potter: she was more frustrated that the content of his character could be so clouded by superficialities. The arrogance, the irresponsibility—his lesser qualities paled in comparison to his courage and nobility; but the good did not excuse the bad, especially when he seemed so determined to publicize the bad over the good, and Lily wanted no role in the life of someone so unwilling to tone down his ego.

Potter's eyes were alight. "I don't appreciate being led on, Evans," he chided, but his tone contrasted his words.

Pointedly, Amelia cleared her throat on Lily's other side. Resignedly, Lily remembered that Amelia would be less willing to share notes after class if Lily's inattention was due to idle conversation, not an insatiable pest. "We'll talk more after class?" Lily asked, though it was less a question than an agreement, one she surprised herself in making.

"After class," he echoed, hearing what Lily could not recognize—a promise.

James caught up with Evans within seconds of stepping out the classroom door, waiting only for her to thank Amelia profusely and tuck the five missed minutes' worth of notes inside her bag. "So why'd you choose to take History of Magic, anyway?" he interrupted immediately, catching her off guard.

She started a little, then eased into a half-shrug. "I'm thinking of going into law after graduation, so it's something of a necessity. What's it to you?"

There, again—her defenses. James wasn't entirely sure why she was so guarded against him, nor did he fully understand his impulse to make her open up. "Just trying to get to know the love of my life. I'm ashamed to not have bothered for the first five years of knowing you. So what field of law are we talking, exactly? Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry?"

"Nah, that's Amelia—she wants to be on the Wizengamot," Evans said absently. "I want to go into something on the Department of International Magical Cooperation—International Magical Office of Law, maybe have a seat on the International Confederation of Wizards if I end up doing well in politics. And yourself?"

"Impressive," James noted. She shot him a look. "—You _do_ know Remus leaked your schedule to me, right?"

Evans pursed her lips. "Did he neglect to mention that I'm taking Arithmancy again?"

"I hate Arithmancy; figured you'd appreciate having a bit of space from me, too," he reasoned. "I won't need a N.E.W.T. in it, so there's no need to suffer through another two years of it."

She chewed her lower lip and broke eye contact, eyes flickering rapidly around the corridor. "What're _you_ planning on doing?"

"Auror," James said easily, scooping her extra books into his bag when she wasn't looking. She began to protest but seemed to reconsider after a moment.

"You know," she told him seriously, "you're not supposed to be allowed to do that until _after_ I've said yes." They both knew to which proposition she was referring.

He ruffled his hair a bit out of habit and made a show of letting her ascend the stairs before he. "Your stubbornness is no reason for me to behave as anything but a proper gentleman to whichever deserving woman I see fit."

"Never," swore Evans, "will I understand your stubborn attraction to me." He wasn't surprised by her mention of it so much as that she refrained from quickly changing the subject, instead letting it hang in the rising air, an elephant in the stairwell. After a flight and a half closer to the Gryffindor tower, she asked, quietly, "How serious about it are you?"

James assured her, "Profoundly."

"Really, though," she pushed, "sometimes I wonder how much of it is about playing with my, my—prudishness or reputation or—whatever." Evans was awfully out of place talking about the matter: _awkward_ and _flustered_ were two words that rarely suited her.

And then he was seeing a whole new side of the Evans he thought he knew. "Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

"_Excuse_ me?" She fastened her pace to a near-sprint up the staircase.

"You know, a boyfriend. Someone you tell your secrets to and snog in broom closets. Have you ever even _been_ kissed? Had a first crush? At that, _please_ tell me you know what hormones are."

Evans yanked him up the last few steps with her and marched heatedly in the direction of the Gryffindor common room. "What's it to you if I've never had a boyfriend?"

"Plenty," James said swiftly. "For one, it explains that you don't understand the male psyche nearly as well as you claim."

"Because I doubt you honestly _love_ me?" she cut him off. "I don't know if you've noticed, but it's a little difficult for me to believe that you're madly in love with someone you _barely_ know. And it's not like _you're_ the kind of person who understands love all that well—tell me, have _any_ of your flings ever lasted longer than a week?"

Bitterly, he mocked, "What's it to you if they haven't?"

"_For one_," she retorted, "it means you hardly recognize the difference between a _fancy_ and actual feelings for someone, and you're one to tell me I'm too inexperienced to make any judgments about the validity of your claims!"

They had reached the Gryffindor tower. James barked the password at a scandalized Fat Lady, who swung forward hastily in hopes of avoiding the drama. "Merlin, how many more mood swings before I can actually get through to you? You ignore me in Potions, say you want to talk just after an opportunity, take _no_ initiative and get mad at me when I bring it up, talk—_politely_—and then fly off the handle when I try to keep it going for longer than five minutes—is there _any_ way I can carry a decent conversation with you without having my head bit off?"

"_Certainly_ not if you're going to tell me off, out of the blue, for something like _never having had a boyfriend_," Evans spat back. "Give me back my books."

"No."

"_No?_"

They were beginning to draw attention to themselves. By the hearth, Mary, Alice, and Emmeline were eyeing the row with mingled interest and dread; in the very corner of the room, Remus and Peter looked concerned for James, though Sirius and Marlene resolutely paid no mind. "Go ahead, say it; I'm just as immature and full of myself as you set out to prove. Are you happy now?"

Evans let out a cross between a snort and a scream and stormed up to the girls' dormitories. Shaking his head, James made a beeline for the Marauders, throwing himself into the armchair Remus had saved for him and muttering a nearly inaudible word of thanks.

He noticed the seating arrangement: his armchair squaring off against Sirius and Marlene's opposite loveseat; Remus's chair at his right; Peter's, neutral, perpendicular. _Appropriate_, James thought, clenching his fists.

Sirius began tentatively, "Trouble in paradise?" The sardonic rhetoric came off more as a tentative plea than anything—understandable to the circumstances.

Recognizing when not to interfere for once, Marlene disentangled herself from Sirius with a final peck on the lips. "Give me your bag; I'll give Lily's things back."

James passed it over wordlessly and watched her figure cross the common room and climb the stairs until out of sight. "Get out," he snarled under his breath, face blank and eyes unfocused.

"Prongs—" Sirius spluttered, wringing his hands.

"I don't care how much you hate him or how justified it was," said James in a rush. "You threatened his _life_, Sirius."

Accused Sirius bitterly, "Unbelievable, how quick you are to jump to his defense."

"Don't make this about him; it's on you. You realize Moony could have had to leave Hogwarts over this?" Sirius was silent. "The first night we're able to be there with him. _Merlin_, take responsibility for yourself."

"But—"

James rubbed his temples, fatigued. "Save it; I can't row with you, too. Not on top of everything."

Sirius rose slowly, slinging his bag over his shoulder haphazardly, and it was eternity before he mustered the will to walk away.

They weren't the same as Sirius, but Remus and Peter were his best friends in their own rights, including knowing when not to push an issue. "That was heated back there with Evans," downplayed Peter, not making eye contact as he poured over the final touches to his Herbology essay.

James groaned and cast a glance over his shoulder at Evans's friends; Mary pointedly turned away upon noticing. "Wretched," he confessed, reaching over to stroke Remus's rabbit, Trix, behind the ears. "She's been acting weird all week—keeps fluctuating between flirting, ignoring me, and picking rows over the littlest things…"

"Asking after a girl's love life has never been known to yield anything but a row, Prongs," advised Remus carefully, lifting Trix into James's open arms. It had been his last Christmas present to Remus, to parody the latest rumors about the identity of Remus's "furry little problem"—though unfortunately for the Marauders, Trix was the best-behaved rabbit Hogwarts had yet seen.

"I'm not saying I'm the most articulate bloke in the school," James reasoned, "but she never used to be this touchy before Snivellus up and called her a—you know—in front of half the castle."

Remus drummed his fingers restlessly on the chair arms. "Go easy on her, Prongs," he suggested loosely. "She's had a rough summer, if you must know, and on top of losing Snape, I'm guessing she's a little fragile at the moment."

"She's confiding in you about this?" Peter assumed, perking up.

"Well—"

Peter smiled kindly. "She's got to be if you two have progressed to a first-name basis since June. Did you see her over the summer—was that why you couldn't hang out for most of it?"

"Wormtail, you're more insightful than we give you credit for," James complimented offhand. Peter glowed. "Well?"

"It's Lily's business," said Remus firmly, reaching for his copy of _Confronting the Faceless_ and scanning its table of contents. "It's her right to tell—or not tell—whomever she chooses, and you'll have to build her trust before you have any hopes of knowing _why_ she's on edge. Just—appreciate that she is. Give her space, Prongs."

He relented, letting Trix nip his fingers gently, and considered the evening: their seats in a reclusive corner of a bustling common room, they spoke in hushed voices of secrets and betrayals, using codeword nicknames and notably missing one of their number. _I hate secrets_ was his first thought; his second, profanity toward the Dark Lord; his third he voiced. "I miss Padfoot."

Peter said nothing and scribbled a note in the margin of his essay. After a moment's hesitation, Remus mumbled, "So do I."


End file.
